“Enliven your people with compassion
that peace and justice
might flourish.”

Thinking of the our beloved world and all who live in it today. Thinking of the turmoil, the violence, the need for peace and for healing. Thinking of one who has “borne the fruit of love” as a leader and reconciler in the Middle East, Jimmy Carter…

With these thoughts I offer this prayer for us all. Thank you Nan Merrill for your magnificent rendition of Psalm 80.

Eternal Listener, give heed to your people,
You, who are our Guide and our Light!
You, who dwell amidst the angels,
shine forth into the heart of all nations!
Enliven your people with compassion
that peace and justice
might flourish.

…May those who have borne the fruit
of love
radiate your Spirit in the world!
May we always walk and co-create
with You…

Note: “Palestinian” can describe both an Arab who lives in the West Bank and an Arab who lives in Israel. Therefore, a Palestinian isn’t necessarily an Arab Israeli, however an Arab Israeli is a Palestinian.

Jerusalem is actually the second poorest city in Israel. This is due to the fact that almost 1/3 of the city is Orthodox Jewish, 75% of which one might call “ultra Orthodox” (known as “Haredim”) meaning they adhere to a traditional form of Jewish law and reject modern secular culture, and many do not work for pay. Rather, they attend Yeshiva, a school where they study ancient texts, primarily the Talmud and Torah, as a full time occupation. They also are exempt from the army, which is considered a bit of a scandal because they are reaping the benefits of the socialist country’s resources without putting back into it in a quantitatively measurable way, including the payment of taxes. This is one of the major current conflicts between the Orthodox Jews and secular Jews.

The Arab Israelis and Jews pay the same 25% tax in Jerusalem, however, the Arab Israelis, who make up about 30% of the city’s population, receive only 10% of the taxes benefits. In practical terms this means, for example, in East Jerusalem, where most of the Arab Israelis live, it is quite run-down and trash-ridden because the trash is picked up only once a week, if that often, while it is collected multiple times a week in Jewish areas.

Everyone living in Israel or an Israeli occupied territory (Palestine) is required by law to carry an identity card (“Teudat Zehut”). The cards vary based on an individual or family’s “status”, ethnicity, and history. Those who live in Israel hold blue identity cards. A blue identity card allows a person to pass between Israel and the West Bank without having to stop at the check point, generally.

There are two primary kinds of blue cards for Arab Israelis. If a person or family received a blue identity card following the First Arab-Israeli War of 1948 (known as the War of Independence by Israeli Jews), then they have access to all the social benefits offered by the Israeli government as well as the right to vote in all elections. A person who received a blue identity card after 1967 (when Israel took control of the West Bank from Jordan) does not have access to any social provisions from the state and is only allowed to vote in municipal elections.

As explained in the previous post, “Some Facts About the West Bank“, those who live in Palestine (the West Bank and Gaza Strip) hold green identity cards. These indicate residency rather than citizenship. If a person holds a green ID card this means that person is only allowed to cross through the big checkpoints going into Jerusalem. These have machines which detects the type of access into Israel the Palestinian has. Primarily, what time of day and for how long the person can be in Jerusalem. For example, 5 a.m. to 5 p.m. or 6 p.m. to 7 or 8 p.m. There are some exceptions, like for clergy. As one of my friends living in Beit Sahour, a primarily Christian city in the West Bank near Bethlehem, explained, “Mine and some of the clergies have 00:00 – 00:00 (24 hours) but this does not mean that we are allowed to sleep in Israel or drive a car and so on….”

The Arab Israelis for the most part are poorer, commonly, because they tend to have the lowest jobs, both in status and pay, due to discrimination. While they technically have equal access to education there aren’t many schools in their neighborhoods and the quality varies.

Arab Christians across the country have somewhat better conditions than Arab Muslims. Our guide’s take on it was, ‘They are the minority so they push themselves more. They are known to be the leaders across the Middle East.’ He added, ‘They pass exams first,’ too. This he attributes this to the missionary schools and the value of education found there.

Housing suburbs for Jerusalem have been built across the 1967 border between Israel and Palestine (the West Bank) since the end of The Six Day War, making them “settlements”, or, housing built by the occupier on the occupied land. Such an act is illegal under international law, however, despite efforts by the U.N., Israel continues to build these settlements. A handful of American activist groups have tried to bring this issue to light to get the U.S. to stop its ally, Israel, from continuing to build, but have not yet been successful. Former President Jimmy Carter is one of the consistent voices in calling out the illegal behavior of Israel, as exhibited this September in an op ed piece in Haaretz, Israel’s oldest daily newspaper. (http://www.haaretz.com/mobile/.premium-1.547086)

About 99% of the settlement residents are Jewish. There is no law against Arab Israelis/Palestinians living there, but, while settlements are cheaper to live in than other areas of Jerusalem, have good infrastructure and have easy access to the city via public transit, it is hard to imagine Palestinians wanting to move into them. They never feel quite accepted, I was told. The few Arab Israelis who do live in settlements are primarily business people coming to the city for work.

CITIZENSHIP: Palestinians in the West Bank are not citizens of any country. Technically. By most they are considered an occupied territory, and occasionally recognized as a full-fledged state. However, since the Palestinian Authority is not recognized as a government, at least according to U.S. State Department[1], then the land cannot be recognized as a state nor the people dwelling there as citizens.

PALESTINIAN AUTHORITY PASSPORTS: Most Palestinians have a Palestinian Authority Passport. To many Palestinians, this indicates nationality as well as travel capabilities. Though, the travel capabilities are limited due to the ambiguity of the region’s classification. Restrictions are placed on Palestinians by Israel, it’s occupying force. Additionally, most other countries require Palestinians to obtain a visa to travel there. Jordan, Palestine’s former ruling force, is the single exception.

JORDANIAN PASSPORTS: Some Palestinians also hold Jordanian passports. These serve solely as travel documents, not an indication of citizenship for those who live in the West Bank.

IDENTITY CARDS: Palestinians also hold Israeli identity cards. Arab Israelis who live in Jerusalem hold blue identity cards. Those who live in the West Bank hold green identity cards. These indicate, as one might presume, residency rather than citizenship. Basically, these communities of people become residents in the land where they were once citizens… without even moving.

GREEN IDENTITY CARDS: If a person holds a green ID card this means that person is only allowed to cross through the big checkpoints going into Jerusalem. These have machines which detects the type of access into Israel the Palestinian has. Primarily, what time of day and for how long the person can be in Jerusalem. For example, 5 a.m. to 5 p.m. or 6 p.m. to 7 or 8 p.m. There are some exceptions, like for clergy. As one of my friends living in Beit Sahour, a primarily Christian city in the West Bank near Bethlehem, explained, “Mine and some of the clergies have 00:00 – 00:00 (24 hours) but this does not mean that we are allowed to sleep in Israel or drive a car and so on….”

MARRIAGE: Up until two years ago a Israeli citizen could marry a non-Israeli citizen and one’s partner would receive Israeli citizenship. However, as of two years ago the law was changed so residents of the West Bank were exempt. Therefore, if an Israeli wants to marry someone residing in the West Bank they must give up their Israeli citizenship and move to the West Bank or move to another country.

ZONES: The West Bank is divided into three zones: A, B, and C. According to decisions made in the Oslo II Accord.

Zone A is under Palestinian civil and security control with their headquarters in Ramallah (the Tel Aviv of Palestine).

Zone B is under Palestinian civil control and Israeli security control. The problem is, some Israeli settlements have now been built in Zone B, violating the Oslo II Accord.

Zone C is under Israeli civil and security control. Palestinians have access to only 1% of this land saturated in the majority of the region’s natural resources and open spaces. “Israeli policies in the area have undermined the Palestinian presence there, with a deterioration in basic services such as water supplies, education and shelter. Nearly 70% of the Palestinian villages are not connected to the water network that serves settlers, which accounts for the fact that Palestinians in the zone use only a quarter to a third of the per capita consumption of settlers,” according to a 2013 EU report. Additionally, The World Bank has stated, granting the Palestinians access to the use of the land would “half their budget deficit and lead to an expansion of their economy by a third.” Zone C also houses all the (illegal) Israeli settlements, which continue to be built in violation of the Oslo Accords, “which specified in article 31 that neither side would take any step that would change the status of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip pending the outcome of the permanent status negotiations. However, Israeli settlement expansion has continued unabated.”

September 12, 2013Today is a unique day in Jerusalem, especially around the Western Wall. It’s a Thursday, and, as Andre our guide explains to us, on Monday’s and Thursday’s bar mitzvahs are celebrated. As we walk to the wall we witness parade after parade heading in the same direction. Families and friends stroll with a slight skip in their step, almost dancing, under four-poster tents called chuppahs, while hired musicians walk backwards in front of them joyously paving each step of their way. When we arrive at the massive, towering wall on the western side of the former temple mount I see teems of people, men gathered on the left two-thirds of a divider and women on the right third. I quickly notice something quite odd: women standing on white plastic chairs with cameras snapping away at a scene over the wooden barrier dividing the men and women. Others throw—launch—rather, showers of colorful petals over the 8 foot divider while little girls peek between the slats. This is how they make do with the gender division… I realize what’s happening, there’s a bar mitzvah happening on the other side! I walk closer to the scene and hold my camera up over my head and start shooting away hoping to get some sense of what’s taking place. From my monitor I see a group of men surrounding a 13-year-old reading the Torah, reciting words spoken for generations as the powerful rite of passage ritualizing the transition of this boy’s life into the beginning of manhood is conducted. It’s a joyous yet also strange scene to observe. I decide it’s time to have my own, personal, western wall experience. So, I turn over my right shoulder and head toward the wall. I wade through the sea of prayers, past the girls in the light blue uniforms and the older women from far and near, some sitting, some standing, and many rocking. I stand behind the one in the blue rosebud hat and the young girl with a dried flower behind her ear. Together our prayers melt into the wall. Together our hearts cry to our God.

I fold my paper and tuck it under a dozen others wedged between the rough rocks. The ancient stones hold our prayers—God holds them—our rock and our refuge.

Today is known as “Bicycle Day”, at least around Jerusalem. You may be familiar with it, too, but under its more familiar name, Yom Kippur—the Jewish holy day of Atonement.

It feels like we have the whole city to ourselves. We cross streets and boulevards entirely empty except for the stray car here and there. We walk up to Jaffa Gate into the Armenian Quarter where we begin to see a handful of other people. A few shopkeepers begin to setup their outdoor displays while men in yarmulkas and women with wrapped hair emerge from the quiet side streets into the early morning sun.

As it’s a predominantly Jewish city with Jewish customs most of the shops are closed and no cars are allowed to drive in the Jewish Quarter, hence the sparse crowds. Therefore, most of the people out “doing” things are Christians and Muslims. It’s nice as a tourist in some ways because there are fewer people overall, yet, it also means we are all concentrated among fewer sites. It seems most of us have decided on the Christian highlights this morning, namely, The Via Dolorosa, “The Way of Suffering”—the 14-station marked route upon which Jesus carried the crossbeam of his cross to the site of his death, Golgotha, “The Place of the Skull”.

We walk it backwards which is unfortunate, but it’s still meaningful at each individual station. Thus, we begin at the Holy Sepulcher, the site of stations 10-14—Jesus is stripped of his garments, nailed to the cross, crucified, and his body is prepared for burial by Mary. As I enter I look past the tomb, past the panorama depicting Jesus’ removal from the cross,

and look up.

I tilt my head up at a mosaic-decorated panel along the arched ceiling. I am seeking connection. I gaze at the illuminated faces of gospel authors and prophets. I hear, “Remember the story.” And, somehow the truth becomes a little more alive in me.

I begin to wander past the crowds around a dark hallway bending to my right. I find a set of quiet-looking stairs descending into the depths of the church. They open to a large room with an illustration on the floor. It’s lovely, but I am not moved. I see another set of stairs traveling yet farther down. I take those. I discover a space hallowed in reverence and adoration for St. Helena. Helena, Constantine’s mother, was sent by her son around 326 to Jerusalem to find Jesus’ crucifix and other relics. She found, under what was then a pagan temple built by Hadrian, what is believed by many to be the site of Golgotha, where the this church now stands. Therefore, we have her to thank for the restoration of this as well as many other important Christian sites.

But, none of that is on my mind as I enter the virtually empty space. Rather, my attention is drawn to one elderly woman sitting on the lowest step, crouched over her knees with her forehead in her hand. I stare at her. She seems tethered to the space. Together we are held in—by the space, in the calm quiet. The silence is magnificent. Sacred. A gift. All we can hear are the soft chants of monks behind us in the distance.

I think, how blessed and special it is we are visiting this site, the place of Jesus’ costly crucifixion, on the day of atonement for the Jewish people. To share that together is marvelous.

I eventually meander back upstairs and return to the entrance.

To my left lay the stairs ascending to the site attributed to Golgotha. I begin to climb. I feel a sense I am walking up as if it were my own passion. I take small steps trying not to crush the fingers or toes of anyone sitting on the stone staircase. I reach the top which opens to a stone floor bearing a sea of faithful visitors. Between the darkened figures held in the low light of glowing lamps and candles I can see the Greek Orthodox altar upon the location marking the place of the cross.

I look around at the scene as beautiful, sacred music streams into my ears. I do not know the words or song, but join the melody. With the little Italian I can recall from my college days I am able to gather we are singing of “The son of the cross”. It is a lovely, mournful song. The priest leads us into prayer and between petitions we pour out cries to God, “kyrie eleison”, Lord have mercy. All the while, I revel in gratitude over the gift of being able to worship with brothers and sisters from around the world in this holy place.

I realize I have no clue where my group is. I feel a bit like Jesus “left” in the temple (Luke 2:41-52). Though, unlike Jesus, I think it best to leave and begin looking for my family.

I eventually do find them and after taking in more of the church we leave and migrate with the many other “pilgrims” through the winding, ancient roads to the remaining stations.

We walk into the courtyard of our final stations, one and two—Jesus’ condemnation and flagellation.

I feel a strange tingling and pain as I enter the doors of the Church of Flagellation. An eerie, awful feeling sweeps over me. I breathe for a few moments, look down at the black and white mosaic-checked floor and exit.

Across the courtyard within the Church of Condemnation I am met by another uncomfortable feeling, but this one is different.

“This is the beginning,” I hear myself say within as I sit on the dark wooden pew and imagine what Jesus might have thought and felt as he was sentenced… His heart sinking, nerves and fear rising, the long walk ahead unknown… All for us.